Monday, September 22, 2014

The Door to Nowhere


could just have easily been named the door to everywhere,


but as children, we tended to think what could be contained,


looked out from, was the point of reference. Our home was


anything but safe. Loaded guns lurked in nightstand drawers,


pornography was coffee table art, and we were too young


to be left alone as often as we were. To pass the time, we wrote


the names of rock bands on our school folders, copied


from my father’s album collection. We took turns


lying on our stomachs in front of the milk crate


where the records were alphabetized, our heads cocked


to read the vertical lettering. If we felt brave, we would


slide the cover out, never removing it all the way


because we were certain our father would know.


Even if we could put it back in the correct slot,


some dust-smear or fingerprint would reveal


our disobedience, the crossing of the imaginary line


between permitted and forbidden, a line that shifted


or vanished entirely at times. The door


was a sliding glass patio door with no patio below,


mocking the way an accident can so quickly


become a tragedy.
 
--April Salzano

Friday, September 19, 2014

Up All Night


I used to
take advantage of each
second – popping truck stop
Yellow Jackets
just to stay conscious
for another hour.
And, though I shook
with lethal doses of legal uppers
my mind functioned
with a clarity that
I can’t even begin to
remember.
Even in hour 72
when the micro-naps
and hallucinated confidants
blurred across my perfect vision,
I was more connected
to life
than I’ll ever be again.

Today’s life is dull,
a reflection
of something so
insignificant
that I wonder why
I even miss it.
 
--Jessica Gleason

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Steaming Open Envelopes

“I suppose you heard what happened to Johnny 2 drinks?”

“No, I’ve just got back from Wales, what’s happened?”

“He’s up at City Royal in intensive care, a right mess.
Stevie and Mickey caught him in the kitchen
steaming open the mail with a boiling kettle on Giro Day.
They kicked seven different shades of shit out of him,
he’s in a coma still, gives me the horrors just thinking of it!”

“That doesn’t make any sense, why not just steal the mail
and open it elsewhere, like in the park across the road
or somewhere and then just bin the envelopes afterwards?”

“Well, him and Karen from room 6 had a barney again
and it was her post that he was caught steaming open.
He’s been ranting drunkenly about her seeing another man
for a couple of nights before all this happened.
He tried to tell Stevie and Mickey that he was just
looking for evidence as they were beating him
but of course they were both having none of it at all!”

“But that’s crazy, I think that he’s probably telling the truth!”

“I know but it was Giro Day and it’s the principle of it.
You just can’t go around messing with other peoples envelopes
on Giro Day or there will be bloodshed, everyone knows this.
He’s lucky that Dai Bones was still sleeping or he would
be proper dead and we’d all have another funeral to go to!”



--Paul Tristram

Saturday, September 13, 2014

You've got your pretty punk girlfriend

You've got your pretty punk girlfriend.
I've sold out.
I'm everything that you used to be.
I'm everything that I used to hate.
 
Idiots guzzling beer,
what's the message?
There is no message, man.
Rape your country.
Kill your Indian.
Buy a new car.
 
You've got your pretty punk girlfriend.
I've sold out.
Your band is the hit at The Whiskey A Go Go.
 
 
--Mikel K